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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30041535">Bridles and Beatings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KushielsMercy/pseuds/KushielsMercy'>KushielsMercy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lambert's questionable coping mechanisms, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicidal Thoughts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:34:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30041535</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KushielsMercy/pseuds/KushielsMercy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lambert never really minded the beatings. Kaer Morhen may like to pretend that it chose its instructors for skill, but it didn’t take long to figure out that the jobs fell to whatever washed sons of bitches were too maimed or mad to be let out on The Path. </p><p>But this, this was different. And he didn't know how to make it fit within the rules.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Bridles and Beatings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Look, all I wanted was to figure out was why Lambert is so hell bent on not naming his horses. But then it went and turned dark on me. Heed the tags folks.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lambert never really minded the beatings. Kaer Morhen may like to pretend that it chose its instructors for skill, but it didn’t take long to figure out that the jobs fell to whatever washed sons of bitches were too maimed or mad to be let out on The Path. </p><p>Some of the instructors tried to justify it. Like he was supposed to believe that broken ribs were in his best interest. Others just missed killing things and a mouthy kid who showed up too grown provided as good an excuse as any. Lambert liked them better. If you’re going to beat someone bloody at least don’t lie to yourself about why. </p><p>So yea, beatings he knew. He’d spout off until his jaw was too swollen to speak. He wasn’t too fussed one way or another if one day he pushed too far, better to spit in the eyes of the living than to cower before death. Besides, he’s always liked to know where the edges of things lie. </p><p>***</p><p>“Why is this one half-dead? It’d be a waste of mutagens sending it to the trial like that,” a mage with fire red hair asks as she inspects the boys next to be Grassed. </p><p>“No respect for authority, that one,” Varin defends. </p><p>“Well - either find another way to teach or kill him. I don’t much care which. But you won’t marr our success rate by sending one in <em> that </em> condition,” and damn, maybe if any of the instructors spent more time learning how to mimic <em> that </em>tone, Lambert would actually listen. </p><p> *** </p><p>The respite lasts less than a week.  And maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, but what Dugrilt was saying made no<em> sense.  </em></p><p>“It wasn’t <em> cheating. </em> Just because you were too thick skulled not to tell us we couldn’t use knives doesn’t mean I <em> cheated </em> . The fuck kind of training is that anyway? Oh, sorry Mr. Ghoul, I forgot I was supposed to roll over like a bitch in heat because signs weren’t in the <em> training plan </em>today. Surprised it took you so long to lose that hand, what with the soup you have for brai-” </p><p>A strong hand is suddenly hoisting Lambert by the throat. Dugrilt may have only had the one of them these days - but he was still a Witcher. And under all the bluster Lambert just a thirteen year old kid. It’s nothing for Dugrilt to walk Lambert across the training field and throw him into the stables. </p><p>“Idon, get over here and help,” Dugrilt snaps in the dim light, “get his hands behind his back - yea, like that - don’t let him run.” </p><p>And Lambert is starting to panic a little now, because this isn’t the pattern he knows. He’s always beaten out in the open - it makes an example of him and keeps the lashings from going too far. And trainees never get involved in the punishment of their own, those were the <em> rules </em>. </p><p>Dugrilt is back before long, and, <em> what the fuck - </em>is that a bridle? </p><p>Before Lambert can process a bit is being shoved in his mouth and straps tightened around his head. He yanks away from Idon with all his strength, but it’s a waste of energy. He’s no match for two men. </p><p>“You want to act like an animal?” Dugrilt hisses. “Fine, we’ll play it like that. See how you like being treated like one.” </p><p>He shoves Lambert into one of the stalls and locks the door. </p><p>***</p><p>Lambert passes the day standing ramrod straight, glaring daggers at any boy who comes to gawk. This may be a new game, and his breath is coming too fast, but this part he <em> knows </em>. Sure, maybe you won’t break if you bend, but eventually you’ll end up so curved that what’s the difference at all? </p><p>Day turns to night without any sign of Dugrilt. The bit prevents him from calling out, but he <em> can’t </em>be left here much longer. The other instructors won’t take kindly to him missing more classes just because Dugrilt wants to have a bit of fun. </p><p>It’s been hours since anyone was last in the stable and Lambert is ever so slowly letting the tension drop from his shoulders when he first hears the voices. Idon leads a group of Grassed boys to his stall, leaning against the top bars with a shit-eating grin. </p><p>“Well, look what we got here fellows. Seems like there’s a new horse that needs breaking in,” Idon drawls. </p><p>The bit is still pulling too hard at the corners of Lambert’s mouth for him to talk, but he’s had all day to figure out how to spit around the thing. He manages pretty well - more of it gets on Idon than on his chin. </p><p>Something dark flashes in the older boy's eyes. He doesn’t respond right away, but instead digs into his pockets. His hand lifts slowly; a key dangles off a single finger. </p><p>And Lambert’s lungs choose <em> now </em> to finish forgetting how to do their damn job. Because Dugrilt had that key. Which means Dugrilt had given them that key...and fuck... <em> no, no, no </em> this wasn’t in the <em> rules.  </em></p><p>“I think we can teach you a better use for that mouth, little horse.” </p><p>*** </p><p>Turns out a cock can’t do much more damage than a fist, if you don’t think about it too hard. You wash off the blood, patch up your clothes, and...Lambert could do this. He could make this fit within the rules. </p><p>So when Idon slides up against him at breakfast the next morning and murmurs “Oats for breakfast, horsie?” Lambert just meets him dead in the eyes, let out a feral grin, and whinnies. </p><p>When they expect you to break - laugh. They never know what to do with that. </p><p>***</p><p>Years later, Lambert hands over newly earned coin for his first mount. She’s a beautiful chestnut mare with a sturdy frame that will carry him far. He runs his hand over her back in appreciation. </p><p>“Know what you’re going to name her?” the merchant asks, already counting his coin. </p><p>“Why’s she need a name? Nothing wrong with being a horse.” </p><p>***</p><p>And sure, telling Idon its name that winter doesn’t have quite the same effect since his corpse can’t open his eyes in disbelief.  </p><p>But everything is fucked anyway, and at least the stable is only missing part of its roof, so he still guides Horse back to the third stall on the left. Because of course <em> that </em> made it intact. He swings down from her back and takes his time getting her settled in. His lungs need it, the smoke in the air is making them fill short and shallow.  </p><p>Finally, he straightens. He’s needed to help bury the broken bodies.  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments feed my soul :) </p><p>Find me over on Tumblr at <a href="https://kushielsmercy.tumblr.com/">KushielsMercy</a></p><p>Also if you're a Lambert fan and haven't yet read <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/tnico/">tnico</a> work go do that now. My characterization of him is heavily influenced by their work, but theirs is better. Off with you now, you can thank me later.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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